


Spartan

by Tangerine



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, On the Run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine
Summary: Iceman suffers from some pre-mission jitters.





	Spartan

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to all of Civil War, but mostly just X-Men: Civil War, and mostly just issue number one.
> 
> You might say to yourself: was that not 11 years ago? I started this fic in August 2006 and finished in November 2017. This might be a new record for me, but it seemed a shame to waste a fic that was already 90% written.
> 
> Needless to say, in light of Uncanny X-Men #600 and the Iceman ongoing series, this diverges from canon quite significantly.
> 
> I have zero memory of why I had Spartan as the title, but the file name has always been bobby_the_dreamer.doc.

Bobby couldn’t take it any longer. “Ugh, please, somebody say something.”

“Shut up, Robert.”

Bobby made a frustrated sound in his throat, pounding weakly at the windows. “I changed my mind. Scott, take me back. This is reminding me of too many summer vacations when my dad would make me look at national parks and state monuments.”

“A father trying to educate his son? Unfortunate that his efforts were in vain.”

“Haaank,” Bobby said, slouching down and kicked at the back of Hank’s seat until Hank reached back and grabbed his ankle. The movement startled Warren out of his nap, who immediately checked his mouth for drool as Bobby cackled. “Sleeping beauty is awake.”

Warren rolled his eyes then immediately settled back again, eyes closing. Bobby didn’t know how the guy could sleep at a time like this. Wasn’t he nervous? If nothing else, Scott was driving, and one of Scott’s greatest adversaries were those pesky traffic lights. So straight-laced about almost everything; so totally psychotic when behind the wheel. 

Bobby sulked for a while, alternating between heckling Hank in the passenger seat and trying to get away from Warren’s wings, which were decidedly on his side of the car. Eventually, even that got boring, and Bobby decided to gaze longingly out the window.

“Aren’t we a little, I dunno, obvious?” Bobby asked suddenly. 

“Image-inducer,” Scott replied as Hank continued to type away, calibrating shit and stuff, whatever it was that Hank did to make himself look busy. Most of the time, Bobby suspected Hank was looking at porn, but Hank was smart enough to cover his own tracks.

Hank’s boring typing must have put him into a coma, because the next time he opened his eyes, it was dark and they were parked in the empty lot of a small motel, and three sets of eyes were on him. Bobby immediately straightened, casually brushing a hand against his crotch, grateful for the dark. “Jeez. Was I talking in my sleep or something?”

“Robert, we’re on the lam …”

“Gee, I hadn’t noticed, Hank.”

Scott, Warren and Hank sighed in unison as Hank continued, “and we three men are not exactly inconspicuous. We are all relatively high-profile and recognisable...”

“Oh, I see. You’re using me for my average face. Fine, I get it.”

“Bobby, please,” Scott said, and Bobby felt a tiny bolt of glee pass through him at the sight of the exasperated wrinkle between Scott’s eyebrows. He loved that squiggle.

“Okay, but I’m not paying. I hope somebody by the name of _Warren_ brought cash.” 

Hank and Scott made a collectively strange noise, like maybe they had both managed to forget that out here, a little thing called money made the world go round, and Bobby didn’t want to think about what they would make him do if they realised their pockets were empty. Wash dishes, if he was lucky, and if he wasn’t, well, thankfully, Warren had already fished out his wallet, thumbing through a stack of crisp twenties. 

“How much do we have?”

“About three hundred in my wallet,” Warren said as Bobby groaned, too slow to avoid the fist Warren drove into Bobby’s thigh. “But I have over sixty thousand in my suitcase. It was all I had on me,” he added apologetically, dodging Bobby’s punchy revenge. 

“All I had on me,” Bobby muttered, shaking his head. “We can’t survive on that!”

Bobby could hear Scott’s teeth grind. “ _Go_.”

Outside, it was almost eerily quiet, and Bobby half-expected to be shot down the minute his feet touched the pavement, but nothing happened, just a lot more creepy silence, interrupted only by the slam of the car door and the hesitant tap of his boots on the pavement. His own personal image-inducer had covered his leather uniform the minute he had stepped out of the truck, and Bobby was a little scared to look down. Knowing Hank and Hank’s dumbass sense of humour, his shirt probably said something embarrassing.

A lanky teenage boy with bad acne and a battered comic book spread out on the counter looked up as he stepped into the small office. The kid eyed him suspiciously, which made Bobby even more convinced his shirt existed solely to make fun of him. 

“How many?”

“How many what?”

The pimply fucker rolled his eyes. “Beds, rooms, whatever.”

“Uh …” Bobby regretted the day Scott had finally decided treating Bobby like a moron was no longer necessary, because Bobby really missed those carefully spelled out instructions. “Two rooms, I guess, and two beds in each. Maybe. I guess. Okay?”

“Don’t got two beds. Two rooms, one bed each.”

“Four rooms then.”

“Only got two rooms.”

“The parking lot is empty,” Bobby pointed out.

“We’re renovating.”

“Okay, fine, two rooms, one bed each. Do I get a discount for being inconvenienced?”

The punk shook his greasy hair into his face. “Nope.”

It took the little bastard about twenty minutes to get everything into the system, moving even slower than Hank had the one time he’d bet Bobby that he could type a twenty-page paper on quantum physics, while drunk, using only his left nostril. Bobby was still paying off that particular debt since he’d also been drunk, and it had seemed un-lose-able.

When he returned to the truck, all three of them were sitting there quietly, looking straight ahead. Bobby ignored the sickly feeling in his stomach and plastered a grin on his face as he tapped on Scott’s window until he rolled it down. “Jeez, guys, lighten up.”

“Did you get the rooms?”

“Nope. Guy said they’re all booked up until next year, mid-March.” Bobby grinned wider, crowding Scott until Scott got annoyed and pushed away his laughing face. “Yeah, of course I got them, but the bad news is we have to share beds, and I’m not sharing with Hank. He snuggles.”

“I’m not sharing with Hank either. Sorry, buddy,” Warren added, patting Hank’s shoulder as Hank smirked at him, bemused. “Remember that conference in … where was it? San Francisco? They lost your reservation, and we decided to share my king-sized bed.”

“San Diego, if I recall. I had never been so oppressively overheated in my life.”

“And you do snuggle,” Warren admitted, ducking a swipe of Hank’s furry paw.

“ _I’ll_ sleep with Hank. Bobby, you’re with Warren. Try to get a full night’s sleep, and don’t leave the room if at all possible. O*N*E has probably realised we’re missing by now, and we’re don’t exactly blend in.” Scott cracked a slight smile. “Except for Bobby.”

“That’s it. I’m changing my name to Captain Forgettable,” Bobby decided. 

Scott and Hank disappeared into their room without saying good night, and Bobby thought that was a little rude, considering they could all die in their sleep tonight, but Scott and Hank were probably full of big plans and deep insights they had to share with each other, and Bobby had never been that kind of guy. Warren had almost abandoned him to the dark side of brains and leadership, but had returned relatively unscathed. 

The room, as Bobby expected, was pretty crappy. So crappy, in fact, that Bobby couldn’t even take pleasure in the face Warren made when he saw it, because Bobby knew he was going to have to sleep on that bed, too. 

With Warren. 

Bobby had kind of been hoping for Scott, to tell the truth.

“I’m taking a shower,” Warren said, dropping his bag on the floor, already half out of his uniform, the leather body hanging low off his hips. It didn’t seem fair, really, that Warren just seemed to get better looking with age. Seemed even less fair that Bobby had noticed. 

The pipes moaned like ghosts as Warren turned on the water. It was eerie and unsettling, and Bobby sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, bracing his forehead against his palms, trying not to shiver. Frost crawled across his pale skin, matching the sense of impending doom digging around in his guts. He didn’t want to be chickenshit about this.

It had seemed so easy to agree in dawn of early morning, when he hadn’t slept at all and the adrenaline of ‘fighting’ the 198 still pumped through his veins like a drug. And he knew he would have agreed anyway, but he hadn’t updated his will recently, and he hadn’t even called his parents to give them a coded goodbye, like he always tried to do. 

And he hadn’t deleted all the incriminating porn off his laptop, either.

Or thrown out certain _stuff_.

Or gotten laid since, well, since his girlfriend had run away with another man. 

Or even masturbated in the last week. 

“Shit,” Bobby muttered at his knees, flinching as a damp towel settled over his head. A pair of naked, dripping legs passed by, and Bobby groaned out loud. “Jeez, _Warren_. Can’t you see I’m having a crisis here? Put some clothes on, you vain motherfucker.” 

“Like you haven’t seen it all before.”

“It’s kinda hard to brood, you know, when you’re flashing the family jewels.”

“Nobody’s making you look.”

“Nobody’s looking,” Bobby replied quickly, really, really wishing he had ended up with Scott, because Scott had never been the type of guy to walk around naked like it was no big thing. Bobby wasn’t a prude, but he found it hard not to stare at other guy’s crotches, for a myriad of complicated reasons, not limited to the fact Bobby was so damn _average_.

“Lighten up, Bobby. I forgot my clothes in my bag.” Bobby settled down as he heard Warren root around in his bag, then tensed up again as Warren opened his big stupid mouth and added, “consider yourself lucky. I could sleep like I normally do and …”

Bobby clapped his hands to the sides of his head. “Oh my god. Please shut up.”

“Get some sleep,” Warren said, climbing onto the bed, wearing a tiny pair of shorts.

“Holy gay, Warren.”

“Hey, fuck off,” Warren said, yanking down the sheets. “I’m not good packing under pressure. I repeat what I said before: I could sleep like I normally do. Now get into something more comfortable than the leather daddy outfit and try to get some rest.”

“Okay, _mom_.”

Warren ignored him, lying down his belly and drawing his wings close to his back. Bobby stared at him for a few seconds, losing his precious smile for only a moment, then stood up quickly, heading for his own bag and pulling out a t-shirt and flannel pants. 

But the minute Bobby laid down, he wasn’t sleepy any more. The bed felt funny, weird and lumpy in all the wrong places, and Warren’s wings were already crowding into his space, soft and warm and vaguely creepy against his skin. Bobby frowned at the ceiling.

“Are you scared?” 

Bobby thought Warren might have actually been asleep, again, but then he sighed. “About what?"

"This. Everything. Dying."

"Not really," Warren admitted after a slight pause. "How is this different from every other fight?"

"It's not, really, I guess," Bobby murmured, laughing a little crazily. “But I’m freaking out here all the same. Shit."

Warren shifted on the bed, causing Bobby to roll toward him into the cavernous dip in the centre of the saggy mattress. They shoved at each for a few frantic seconds before Bobby dragged himself back to the edge. “Go to sleep,” Warren said, “and don’t worry.”

“Easy for you to say, you big narcoleptic chicken.”

And Bobby did try. He really, honestly did, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to die, and that he wasn’t ready for it. Not that people were ever ready for death, but Bobby thought he’d be more comfortable with the idea than he was, considering he’d spent almost half his existence fighting for his life. He’d been in dire situations before, sometimes even before breakfast, but it hadn’t ever felt this utterly hopeless before.

Warren sighed, sliding an arm across Bobby’s chest in a pseudo-choke hold. “Better?”

“A little,” Bobby admitted.

But Bobby still didn’t sleep.

Warren’s watch, likely worth more than Bobby made in a year, ticked loudly in his ear, and Warren’s wings were definitely on his side now, covering him like a downy blanket. They were so fucked up, all four of them. All five if you counted Jean, which Bobby still did. She _would_ come back eventually, because that was how things worked with Jean, but would _they_ still be there when she returned for good? Or would they finally be gone?

If Bobby had to die, he wanted it to be with these guys. That much he knew. Preferably on his feet fighting, with Hank guarding his back, and Scott yelling instructions, and Warren flapping around like a dork. That would be okay, he thought. Wasn’t too scary. 

Idly, Bobby drummed his fingers on Warren’s forearm, hanging onto him like a life-preserver. He couldn’t tell if Warren was really asleep, or just faking it. The problem with Warren was, unless Warren was brooding, it was impossible to tell what the guy was thinking. Warren had _fake_ down to an art form, and Bobby still couldn’t tell half the time.

Bobby decided he didn’t really care if Warren was awake or not. 

“If you died tomorrow, would you regret anything?”

“I don’t know,” Warren replied, voice muffled by the pillow. "Probably not."

Bobby looked over at him, but Warren still had his head turned away, the only parts of him that Bobby could see beyond the wings were the shadowy nape of his neck and the soft paleness of his hair. It was easy to remember what lay beneath that golden hair. Impossible to forget, walking in on Warren when he had been fresh from Apocalypse, sullen and angry, ashamed, the patchwork of deep, angry scars on his bare, blue scalp.

To this day, Warren still hadn’t spoken about it, and Bobby had never asked.

Bobby probably never would.

“I didn’t delete the porn off my laptop,” Bobby admitted. “I would _really_ regret that.”

Warren chuckled. “I don’t think anybody would be surprised about that, Bobby.”

“I think they would.” Bobby took a deep breath. “Most of it was of guys.”

“Hmm,” Warren said. That was all. Just _hmm_ , like it was no big thing, and in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn’t, but Bobby could die tomorrow, and his laptop would be full of porn, and while he could handle death, he _couldn’t_ handle imagining the look on everyone’s faces when they opened that folder on his desktop called ‘hot hot pr0n.’

“I know I’m acting like an asshole over it, too. I mean, mutants are under attack. We’re already being tagged and registered like dogs, and it’s probably not going to be that long before they start neutering us. The whole fucking world is falling apart around us, but …”

“Your laptop is full of gay porn.”

“Exactly,” Bobby said, brushing his fingertips over the soft hair on Warren’s forearm now, back and forth. It was all very soothing and zen, and Warren wasn’t complaining, so Bobby had no plans to stop. “I mean, what if they send it to my _mom_? Or, shit, my _dad_? He’s been taking computer classes, you know. In theory, he could learn how to turn it on.”

“Hmm,” Warren said again.

“Right. I’ll come back from the dead, and then promptly die again of embarrassment.”

“Unfortunate.”

“I know,” Bobby said miserably, tapping away at Warren’s arm, still not tired, but a little less weighted down with his ridiculous worries. “If you live, and I don’t, can you …?”

“Sure, no problem. If you do the same for me,” Warren said, and finally turned his head, and suddenly Bobby thought he would die of shame before O*N*E ever got him, because Warren was _looking_ at him in that indescribable, impenetrable Warren way. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if Bobby wasn’t in _bed_ with Warren, confessing his secrets.

“You can go to sleep now,” Bobby told him. 

Warren grinned, slightly distorted by the pillow pressing against his cheek, looking impossibly sleep-rumpled for a guy who had been faking it for the last half an hour. “I’m actually not that tired. You might have noticed I slept a good ten hours in the truck.”

“I’m not tired either," Bobby confessed, unable to keep the mournful note from his voice.

Warren shifted on the bed, turning onto his side and bending his legs until his knees were pressed against Bobby’s side, the heat of his skin cutting through Bobby’s thin tee-shirt. His arm remained a steady weight on Bobby’s chest, though Warren lifted his hand and rubbed a cautious thumb against the side of Bobby’s head. Oddly, it wasn’t creepy at all.

“So you aren’t going to say anything, about the porn?”

Warren shrugged. “What’s there to say?”

“I dunno. Maybe ask me if I’m gay or something.”

Warren’s thumb continued gently stroking Bobby’s face. “Are you?”

“Fuck if I know, man.” If Bobby hadn’t been pinned down, he would have put a hand over his face and shaken his head for good measure, perfectly illustrating his internal struggle, but as it was, he could only glower at the ceiling. “And I haven’t, _you know_.”

“Why not?”

Bobby sighed then shrugged. “Because what if I’m not really, you know, gay-ish? I’d feel bad for the guy I tried to do it with, and it would be awkward, and I’d be obligated to explain my entire history with relationships, and a guy needs a little pride. Like, maybe I feel this way because every chick I’m into inevitably ends up boinking Alex Summers.”

“Opal never,” Warren made a pained face and cleared his throat, “ _boinked_ Alex.”

Bobby huffed dismissively. “That’s only because she never really met him.”

“Zelda.”

“Ditto.”

“Cloud.”

“Cloud,” Bobby repeated, glaring at Warren, who had his poker face on again. Either Warren was taking him seriously, or Warren was making fun of him, and Bobby wasn’t sure which option he preferred. “Cloud was a freaking _nebula_ , Warren. She and Alex …”

“He,” Warren said.

“He, she, whatever. Still a nebula, and Alex is Mr. Cosmic man, with his stupid powers, and I know if they had ever met, I’d be left jerking off alone like I always am.” Bobby sighed. “I like the guy, I do, but I’m a little sick of his apparently irresistible sexiness.” 

“He is a Summers.”

“Yeah, well. What’s up with that anyway? Collectively, they’re not that hot, and yet.”

“And yet,” Warren agreed, smiling now, and okay, that was better, because Warren had been making fun of Bobby since the dawn of time, and his mocking just felt right. In fact, this whole weird situation just felt right, which made Bobby feel a little funny deep inside. “I guess you and I are doomed to always finish second to the Summers brothers.”

“Which totally blows, because averaged out, we’re the much hotter duo.”

“Hmm,” Warren said, a strange little smile on his lips, and Bobby felt warm all over, which was ludicrous, because he was the fucking _Iceman_. Bobby hadn’t felt warm since before he had hair on his balls, and the only time he ever got close was during sex.

“I think I should sleep,” Bobby blurted out, fingers tightening against Warren’s arm, trying to think of the polite way to push Warren off. “I mean, in theory, I’m exhausted.”

“And in reality, you’re a total chickenshit.”

“I. Shut up,” Bobby muttered lamely. “Our world is ending, Warren. We’re _fucked_ …”

“All the more reason to stop acting like this isn’t what you’re after.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Bobby squeaked, hating Warren, truly detesting him, because Warren always had been able to read people like a book, which was why Warren was so filthy rich and successful, and Bobby, if he hadn’t been an X-Man, would have been an accountant living in his parent’s basement, playing video games and reading comics on his off time.

“Just fucking admit it, Bobby.”

“I really can’t,” Bobby insisted, squirming under Warren’s unrelenting arm, and even if he had managed to escape Warren’s stranglehold, the intensity in Warren’s eyes would have had him pinned. This look, Bobby realised, was why Warren had slept with half the planet. “Don’t you think if I could, I would have already, like, when I was at my sexual peak?”

Warren narrowed his eyes, and Bobby’s first instinct was to slither out of his clothes, because maybe Warren was right, and maybe Bobby had been after this. Because Bobby didn’t want to die with regrets, and it’s not like he could have gone to Hank or Scott. Hank, because he was the closest thing to a brother Bobby had, and Scott, well. On principle, Bobby could not sleep with anybody even peripherally related to the Summers.

But Warren. 

Warren was safe. Bobby suspected he owed Hank a hundred bucks because obviously Warren _was_ single again and just hadn’t told anybody, as usual. Warren was almost as bad at relationships as Bobby was, and that was saying something. It had to be a mutant thing, because _everybody_ Bobby knew seemed to be a little stunted in that department.

Bobby looked away from Warren’s intense gaze, and squinted at the clock. Barely even midnight, and he wondered, idly, if Scott and Hank had passed out, or if they were still hard at work, looking for the trail of clues the 198 had inevitably left behind. Wondered, also, if the walls were as paper-thin as they appeared because that could be embarrassing.

And Bobby had to ask himself: if he died tomorrow, what would he regret more, doing this with Warren or totally chickening out? In the back of his head, he could practically hear Emma calling him a coward, harping on him for never taking chances, never pushing himself out of his comfort zone. His powers were better, but his life was still a mess.

“What do you normally wear to bed?” Bobby asked. 

“Not these,” Warren replied, and those ridiculous shorts Warren _had_ been wearing sailed past Bobby’s line of sight, landing in a tiny crumpled heap on the questionable carpet. 

Oh god, he was really going to do this. Wouldn’t Emma be proud?

Warren’s hand cupped his cheek and turned Bobby’s head to him. The heat radiating from Warren’s palm was incredible, yet Bobby’s breath had turned visible, creating a restless feeling that throbbed beneath his skin, like a low-grade fever. Hot and cold, turned on by Warren’s steady touch and turned off by the worries that plagued him. 

“Stop thinking so much,” Warren said, lips hovering over Bobby’s as he spoke, close enough that each word was brushed onto Bobby’s open mouth. Bobby hadn’t noticed Warren getting so close. Hell, Bobby still hadn’t figured out how Warren got the shorts off. But there he was, a steady weight covering the entire length of Bobby’s tense body.

_Naked_.

Warren smiled at him, sexy and serene, all at once, and Bobby didn’t even get the chance to crack a joke, because then Warren kissed him. No asking if he could, no fucking around, nothing, just kissed him, mouth open, tongue already nudging its way inside. And they hadn’t been like that for more than six seconds before Bobby kissed him back.

Bobby, who had always found kissing a little ridiculous and would readily admit that probably meant he wasn’t very good at it, realised he was a total moron. Probably not news to anyone who knew him, but Bobby always was the last to know these things. Kissing Warren made _Bobby_ feel sexy, and that had never happened before. Best Bobby could usually manage was decently average, with a touch of boy-next-door charm and, occasionally, cute. Bobby was pretty sure nobody had ever looked at him and wanted to rip his clothes off, with the exception of Jean Paul, which had frightened him at the time. 

He’d chickened out with Jean Paul, too, though he hadn’t exactly realised it then. 

It didn't take long before he was writhing under Warren, who just had this way of moving that Bobby didn't know was humanly possible, making it impossible for Bobby not to lift his hips and spread his thighs, grinding into the sensual slide of Warren's entire body. He moved his hands over Warren's back, which was crazy muscular and tight under his fingers. Warren was too hot, Bobby decided. Nobody should be this hot. It was criminal.

“Easy,” Warren said, slowing down the movement a little, working his hand under Bobby's shirt as he mouthed over Bobby's jaw, breathing hot in Bobby's ear. “Just relax.”

“I'm relaxed,” Bobby squeaked, legitimately concerned about coming in his pants like a teenager. Warren's hand slid up the centre of his torso, pausing to flick a thumb against one of his nipples. Bobby pushed up against him, desperate to find friction, and Warren took that moment to sit up and stare down at him, resting back on his heels.

Before Bobby could protest or beg or anything else embarrassing, Warren twisted his fingers in Bobby's t-shirt and dragged it over his head. Bobby swallowed then obediently lifted his hips when Warren moved his hands to his waistband, tugging down the flannel pants until Bobby was completely naked. He was achingly hard, and Warren's eyes immediately settled on his erection, a tongue sliding between his lips to wet them.

“You're so ready for this,” Warren murmured, firmly sliding his palm over Bobby's cock, gathering the pre-come at the tip with his palm. He then smirked a little, fingers curling around Bobby's cock and jerking him roughly one, twice, three times. Bobby gasped, which only made Warren smile wider. “Why were you waiting so long for this, Bobby?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Bobby gritted out, “something about being repressed.”

“I would have done this for you any time,” Warren told him, settling back even further, his hands sliding down Bobby's thighs and pushing them apart. Bobby made a small sound of protest, but then he felt Warren's breath hot on his lower stomach. “You only needed to ask me,” Warren added, his mouth sliding over the head of Bobby's cock. 

Seriously, Bobby decided, it just wasn't fair that Warren was so good at this.

“How many dicks have you sucked?” Bobby asked, fighting the urge to twist his fingers in Warren's golden hair. “Like, for science. So I know what I should be aiming for.”

Warren pulled back slightly, eliciting another groan of protest from Bobby. “A lot,” Warren replied filthily, jacking Bobby before taking him back into his mouth. His tongue moved confidently around the head of Bobby's cock before his mouth sucked him in deep.

“Shit, I'm going to,” Bobby said, cutting himself off with a moan. Warren seemed to get it though, throat swallowing hard as Bobby came in his mouth, staying with him to the end. With a faint plop, Warren released Bobby's dick and sat up, his lips slick and shiny.

“Kiss me,” Warren said, and it should have been so fucking gross, but it was hot as hell, so Bobby just went with it. Warren evidently was the be all and end all of sex, and if Bobby died tomorrow, at least he had lived through the Worthington Sex Experience. 

Wow. 

Bobby took a minute to try and get his shit back together, pretty confident he failed. 

“So,” Bobby said conversationally, urging Warren to sit back with a hand on his chest,“if a guy was to blow you, what is the most comfortable position for you? Science again.”

“Works best when the person is kneeling in front of me,” Warren said, placing a hand on Bobby's shoulder, guiding him off the bed. The carpet was so disgusting, and Bobby was confident he was going to catch something from it. He just did not give a shit right now.

“I have watched a lot of porn on the off chance I ever fell face first on some guy's dick,” Bobby warned him, eyes fixed on Warren's cock, “but I am probably going to be awful.”

“I'll lie to you,” Warren assured him with an infuriating, arrogant, lazy smile.

Bobby hesitated, because holy shit this was it. It was way gayer to give a blow job than to receive one – though when he really thought about it, there probably wasn't much difference at all – but still, the minute he did this, he would probably want to do it again, and again, and often, and how did one even find a guy to do this with on the reg?

“Are you monologuing in your head?” Warren asked, bumping him with a knee.

“Hey, it's not just for Spider-Man. All the cool kids do it.”

Bobby probably could have kept the nervous chatting up for a while longer, but then Warren did this thing with his stomach and his hips, pulling his belly taut and drawing Bobby's attention back to his cock. Oh, right, blow job. You can do this, Bobby, he told himself, licking his lips. In theory, Bobby Drake, the famous X-Man Iceman, loved dick. 

“Bobby,” Warren said, reaching down to stroke himself, “stop thinking so much.”

“Ugh, I seriously can't stop,” Bobby admitted, eyes glued to Warren's hand, and it seemed easy enough to reach out and bat his hand away, replacing it with his own. Bobby was basically the Master of Masturbation, so he felt pretty damn confident, which made it much easier, after several purposeful strokes, to use his mouth instead.

Warren groaned, combing his fingers through Bobby's hair. “That feels so good.”

He didn't know if Warren was lying, and he didn't care if Warren was lying. The taste and feel of Warren in his mouth was incredible, and he couldn't stop himself from sucking harder, trying to take Warren deeper, his hand firmly curled around the base of his cock. Porn probably hadn't been all that helpful, except to cultivate a deep appreciation for dick. Warren's hand on his head was a much better teacher, not pushy, guiding, helpful.

When Warren pushed at him with a breathy, “I'm going to come,” Bobby kept his mouth firmly where it was. Feeling Warren in his mouth, salty and hot on his tongue, made him feel like he could suck a million cocks. An ambitious target, for sure, but not impossible.

“I'm not even going to ask,” Warren said, chest still heaving, pulling Bobby up. Bobby flopped flat on his back, feeling a little dazed and a lot pleased with himself, and Warren slid up against him, wings settling over them like a blanket. “Not bad ... for a first-timer.”

“Having sex with a guy is amazing,” Bobby told him seriously. “I am an idiot.”

Warren smiled against his shoulder, shifting in that sexy way again, and spoke hot and low into Bobby's ear, one hand splayed on Bobby's chest. “When we survive this, I'll fuck you.” Bobby sucked in a sharp breath. “Or you can fuck me. I have no preference.”

“Think I can get Scott to cancel this whole thing?”

“Dream big,” Warren replied, the slice of his smile bright even in the semi-darkness. 

Bobby decided he would.


End file.
